We Are The Heroes
by Bryher
Summary: DARKFIC. A female knight talks us through some of her experiences. Not for the faint hearted. OneShot


Title; We Are The Heroes.

Summary; DarkFic. A female knight ponders on her existence and learning that her sister is still alive at Hadrian's Wall. Sex scene, gore and torture, so if you don't like, don't read. I don't want to upset anyone.

Rating; M.

Disclaimer; I don't own the knights or the torture method mentioned. I only own the OC's of Rebekkah and the narrator and the plot.

* * *

There were long days of sunshine, and hour of light in this place. The seasons came and went as all things do. The sun set and the sun rose and yet certainty remained in the dark. What people choose to do with their lives was up to them-in most cases. In this case, we had no choice. We were the ones who had to fight to live, the ones who faced the Blue Demons and the Saxons. This life that we lead was hard to comprehend to some. Many of the whores at the wall couldn't understand how our families could let us go.

We knew different.

We knew that they had no choice. There were always enough soldiers to take what was needed. And if there was resistance?

Death.

Its how the world works, so we're told.

The boys and girls who rode next to me were the ones who meant the most to me, only, they weren't boys and girls anymore. Three year's training in Viroconium was enough to see to that. Men and women. Sarmatians. Forever family in this mountainous, cold, foggy terrain.

I often wondered why I didn't go to her sooner. My sister. She'd left some time ago for Hadrian's Wall with her husband, Ailfric, a thin, quiet young man. It was only four years after I'd arrived at the Wall that I found the courage to speak to the Commander, asked for leave to go to Wall's End. I knew that's where they were.

I knew a lot that they didn't. I knew that our tribe didn't exist anymore. The stench of death rolled over me the day that they came. The Romans destroyed our small tribe with vicious precision, working in shielded teams of four. I remember screaming as my Father stood up to protect my Mother, his blood sliding down my cheeks as his head rolled past. The Sarmatian boys and girls on the hill screamed too, watching as another piece of their land was massacred.

It was what they did to my Mother.

I was hauled up, hands tied, and dragged to the big tree at the edge of the woods, my mother and four other women tied up by nooses there. I remember looking over at Rebekkah, a friend of mine, seeing her sobbing, eyes wide and terrified, being dragged beside me. I could find no words to comfort her.

Then Rebekkah and I were side by side, our Mothers on our shoulders.

They set a fire under our feet. We screamed, loud and long, the other two women already dangling, having no kin to help them. Fire seared my flesh, biting and scarring. The dead woman hanging beside me kept swinging, her feet hitting my shoulder, my mother babbling for me to move, to forget about her. I cried and howled, shutting my eyes against the pain my throat tearing with the noise. I could feel Mother wriggling, and I screamed at her to stop, I could _do_ this, I could _save_ her…Then suddenly, I was falling, cold, hard dirt under me and no more noise. I remember rolling over, and there she was, swaying, neck at a strange angle. I knew Rebekkah was still there, screaming, before her knees gave and her Mother swung. We clung to one another in the dirt, silent. My Mother had kicked me out from under her.

I don't remember the ride to Britain. I know I rode with a Roman man, but I was ill with fever. My feet had become infected, and I wondered later why they didn't leave me to the Wolves. I wouldn't have minded. I had failed my family.

Years passed, forgotten in the mists of my mind and this land. This land I have learnt to respect and hate.

Then I was here, and I was stood outside a busy tavern with my hood over my face and tears in my eyes. She was the double of Mother. Her long, dark curls swung merrily, bright eyes and a beautiful smile captivating men wherever she went. I couldn't face her. I couldn't let her know that we were the only ones left. So I left, and I knew she'd seen me, but I left nonetheless.

She grieved, so I was told.

Battles came and went, I lost brothers and sisters. Rebekkah clung to me in the dirt once more, arrows riddling her, tears streaming down her face as blood frothed between her lips and ran down her chin. I knew what she asked of me, but I couldn't do it. She gripped my face in both bloody, dirty hands and cried, and I cried too, tears dripping onto her cheeks. I felt sick, a vile pressure in my gut forcing me to grab her and hold her tightly, my only link to our tribe. Her cries grew faint as did the ones of the battle, and I sobbed, screaming, into her hair. I couldn't do this anymore.

It was Galahad that helped me stand, hours later, letting Rebekkah slide to the muck once more, eyes glassy. I felt numb. Isolated. He took me back to my chamber, undressed me from my armour and turned to leave. I couldn't stay here alone.

Mouths smashed together, my hands scrabbling madly to yank his shirt over my head, his hands gripping my hips, slamming me against the wall, a raw, feral groan rumbling through him as I bit the joint between his neck and shoulder, sweat and dirt rife on his skin. We ground against one another, tears sliding down my cheeks as I grabbed his hair, twining my fingers in the soft locks, his hands now moving to my shirt, strong hands sliding up my abdomen, over my breast band and yanking the garment over my head, mouths meeting again in a frenzy as the once white linen was flung behind us. His chest rippled, stomach taut and toned, muscular arms wrapping themselves around my waist as I was lifted into the air and shoved back against the stonework. I cried out, a sword wound scraping against the unyielding rock. Instantly, I was dropped to me feet and blue eyes gazed concernedly. I hissed, crashing my forehead gently against his and kissed him, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Pain is good." I gasped as I was bitten myself, my collarbone would be marked. "The dead feel no pain."

We came together like madmen. Hard and fast, his movements over me brutal and unforgiving. He was grieving as much as I. Cries and groans, the sound of flesh on flesh, the sweat and dirt rolling off the pair of us. It was far from romantic, but it was what we needed. I screamed his name and he became uncontrolled, becoming harder and faster than before. I came again, groaning. Finally he collapsed atop me, chest heaving, face buried in my neck. His curls were damp with exhaustive sweat, tears in his eyes as well as my own.

Oh yes, We Were The Heroes, but who would remember us?

* * *

As it turned out, everyone!

I was in a dark and unforgiving mood when I wrote this. Review if you like, I would much appreciate it. I borrowed the torture of the girls and their mothers from a film I saw once called Amazons and Gladiators. While I didn't think it was a good film, there were elements of it that made me think. Having your parent on your shoulders with a fire under your feet is scarring.

**Please do review!**


End file.
